


Runaway

by Setcheti



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Demons, Gen, Minor Character Death, Runaway Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setcheti/pseuds/Setcheti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, prophesied savior of the wizarding world and a very upset but determined fifteen year-old, was running away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And another Happy Christmas, this one to Bumpkin. ;)

It was, Harry reflected as he dug into the rich soil of the backyard, time to go. 

He had made mistakes, he didn’t deny it. He didn’t even expect anyone else to take their share of the blame; he was the Boy Who Lived, they had expected ‘great things’ from him and he’d let them all down. All of them. Even the Weasleys hadn’t communicated with him after what had happened at the Ministry, his teachers had spoken to him coldly and only when they had to, and Dumbledore…had sent him back to the Dursleys’ with strict orders for all involved that he wasn’t to be allowed to communicate with anyone unless it was a dire emergency. 

Dumbledore had sent Harry back to his aunt and uncle’s house with those instructions, knowing full well what had been going on there and knowing full well what would most likely happen once the front door of the house on Privet Drive closed and the reluctantly guarding Order members lost sight of him. Not that they would have interfered anyway, unless Death Eaters were involved; they weren’t allowed to, and Harry doubted that any of them would have wanted to anyway. Sirius’ death wasn’t something they were going to forgive him for, probably not ever. 

He finished the hole he was digging and smoothed the inside of it with his fingers, fishing out rocks and broken slivers of roots. Then he sifted in the small heap of leaves and pulled grass he’d gathered from the immediate area, making a soft bed, and carefully laid the broken, bloody body of his once snow-white owl on top of it. Harry fought back the sob that rose up in his throat, knowing he didn’t dare make a noise; he’d been ordered to take his pet’s body down to the bin at the alley in a plastic sack, but instead he’d slunk into the bushes and clawed out a grave for the remains of his only friend with his bare hands. Quickly he covered the hole, packing down the dampish earth and then fixing the surface so that no trace of the grave could be seen; he wouldn’t put it past Dudley and his gang to dig up the owl’s remains, but they wouldn’t bother searching the little grave out if it wasn’t plainly visible. 

Wiping his hands off on his filthy, oversized jeans, Harry crept down the line of bushes, making sure any rustles he made were in time with those created by the light evening breeze. He had to go, and he had to go now. If he were spotted, if he were caught and dragged back to the house, he was quite sure he wouldn’t survive the summer. And surviving was what he had to do if the threat of Voldemort were ever to be banished from the wizarding world. The prophecy was quite clear on that point. If Harry stayed on Privet Drive and let his Uncle Vernon kill him the way the man had killed his beloved owl not an hour earlier, then the monster Tom Riddle had become would live forever. 

He was past the border of the Dursleys’ property now, and into their neighbor’s wild tangle of honeysuckle that rimmed the alley for the length of their lot and spilled over into the next. With luck and the falling dark, not to mention the rainstorm that was even now starting to spit cool droplets from the graying sky, Harry thought he should be able to make it off the Dursleys’ block and into the nearby park, from which point he would be able to escape the area entirely. He reached back to pat the small padded pouch that hung inside his jeans, and then up to finger what looked like a chipped bone fang that hung on a worn leather thong around his neck. He was ever so glad he’d followed his instincts and camouflaged his wand as well as shrinking his more precious belongings to pocket-size before getting off the Hogwarts Express in London, or else they’d have gone the way of his trunk as soon as he’d arrived at Privet Drive and he wouldn’t have them now. 

Droplets became a soft curtain of water became a swift deluge, and Harry took advantage of it to get himself into and then through the park, making swift tracks through the neighborhood on the other side now that he didn’t have to be concerned with hiding from watchful eyes. He looked like any other teenager caught out in the rain, hurrying toward home with his head down, and no one even gave him a second look. 

Harry walked all that night, knowing that he didn’t dare stop anywhere close to Privet Drive for fear his absence had been noticed and people were out searching for him. Even though if they were, they would doubtless be looking in the direction of London, expecting him to run back to Diagon Alley on the Knight Bus like he had once before. They wouldn’t expect him to be heading away from everything and everyone he knew, disguised by a glamour that made him look nineteen and riding on a regular bus headed for the coast. 

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, prophesied savior of the wizarding world and a very upset but determined fifteen year-old, was running away.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry approached his third construction site that morning, knowing that morning was fast slipping away and with it another day’s chance to find work; it was his fourth day in this part of Canada, and he really didn’t want to sleep under another bridge tonight. He resisted the urge to check his glamour again, knowing it was still in place and he still looked old enough to work rather than young enough to have been in school. And he knew he was strong enough; after all, he’d been working ever since he could walk. But this was the third site he’d tried, and so far no one had even given him a chance. 

He walked up to the nearest worker who wasn’t working, a bulky man bending over a water spigot, and cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said politely. “But could you please tell me if your boss is on site? I’m looking for a job…” 

The man stood up and turned around, and Harry’s eyes widened; it wasn’t a man. Whatever it was had blue skin and three small horns protruding from underneath the hardhat that shaded its round yellow eyes. It swiped away stray water from its mouth with the back of its hand and nodded, sizing him up. “We could sure use another pair of hands, yeah,” it said in a distinctly Toronto accent. It jerked one of two thumbs in the direction of a small trailer on the other side of the site, where a man in a blue hardhat was talking with two other workers over some plans. “Hey! Harris!” the…person Harry had been talking to yelled out, waving his arm. “Got a guy here wants to work!” 

“Always good to hear! If it’s true!” the man called back. “Send him on over!” 

Harry collected himself enough to thank the helpful worker politely, and on a second’s consideration offered a slight bow as well before hurrying away toward the person he hoped was going to hire him. He did not see the worker’s third eye open wide with surprise at the respectful gesture. 

The man in the blue hardhat, Harry was relieved to see, was just a man. He was slightly under six feet tall, with dark hair and one dark eye showing, the other eye being covered by a plain black patch. He sized Harry up much the same way the horned blue worker had, but with more intensity. “You looking for work, kid? Ever done any before?” 

Harry drew himself up a little straighter and tried not to let frustration get the better of him. “I’ve been doing hard work most of my life. I’m a good worker, and I learn fast.” 

“Again, things I like to hear.” He looked to the other workers with him, both of whom were red-skinned and had curved claws. “I notice you’re not having much of a problem with the idea of working with demons.” 

“That’s what they are?” Harry blurted out, and then winced. “I _am_ sorry,” he apologized to the red demons, and repeated his earlier bow. “That was rude of me. I meant no offense.” 

“None taken,” one of the demons grunted, and the other nodded agreement. It returned its attention to its boss. “Wanna go over the plans some more after lunch? We’ve got enough to go with for now.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Harris agreed, and started rolling up the plans he was holding. “You two get back to it, then. C’mon, kid, you’re with me.” 

Harry followed him back to the trailer and once inside he took the chair the older man waved him to and sat on the edge of it. Demons. He desperately wanted to ask about the demons…but he was more desperate not to be jobless and sleeping under a bridge any longer. Harris looked human, if he was working with the demons it must be okay. 

The man had taken his own seat behind a cluttered desk and was giving Harry a speculative look. “You haven’t been in town long, have you?” he asked. 

“Um…no.” Harry sat a little straighter. “I was working on a cargo ship, as a deckhand. When we docked here I decided to have a look around, and I thought I‘d see about finding work.” He scooted forward and held out his hand. “I’m Harry Smith.” 

The other man accepted his hand without hesitation. “Xander Harris,” he returned. He still had a speculative look about him, though, as he sat back in his chair. “You’d never seen a demon before today.” It wasn’t a question, but Harry shook his head anyway. “You were polite, that was good,” Harris told him. “It’s always best to be polite until you know you should be otherwise, but I’m guessing you already knew that. And I’m not going to hold it against you for giving me a phony last name; been there, done that. Now tell me why I need to hire a runaway underage British magic user to work construction in the middle of a demon enclave?” 

Harry started. What was a demon enclave? And how had this man known about his name, or that he had run away, or that he knew…he collected himself with an effort. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I’m sure you do.” Was that a gleam of sympathy in Harris’ eye? It was gone too fast for Harry to be sure. “Except about the demon enclave, you obviously didn’t know about that. Kudos for striking the right note with my crew and not running screaming off down the road, though. How many days have you been sleeping out since your boat docked?” 

“A few. Three.” Was this man reading his mind? Harry wished with everything in him that he’d been able to master the Occlumency. If this man, or the demons, could read his mind or sense his magic… 

“I can’t read your mind,” Harris interrupted his panicking internal monologue. “I’m just very…perceptive, you might say. It’s a gift. And some demons might be able to see through the spell you’re using, but not all of them. I’m not trying to scare you, but I think you need help and you’re not going to get that if we play games with each other. So I’ll just lay it out and you tell me if I’m wrong.” The man’s brown eye was kind, his voice gentle. “You’re a good kid, always try to do the right thing, you know how to use magic and you’re pretty good at it. And it’ll be at least five years before you’re actually the age everyone else thinks you are, but you act like you’ve been grown up for a long time. Which tells me that whatever you’re running from must be pretty damned bad, and has more magic than you, because someone like you doesn’t run unless they’ve got no other options.” 

Harry looked at him for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to try to bluff the situation out…and then he sighed. “I’m fifteen, almost sixteen,” he corrected the older man. “I’m just small for my age. And I was running for my life.” 

“I kind of figured.” Harris was nodding. “Okay Harry, here’s how we’re gonna play this. You’ve got the job, but no more sleeping out. You’re coming home with me, and my place is where you’re going to live from now until you’re legal, got it? You and I, we’re gonna to be honest with each other, and by the end of tonight we’ll both know everything there is to know about anything or anyone who might be coming after either one of us. You’re going to listen to me, you’re going to let me teach you, and in return I’m not gonna treat you like some little kid who doesn’t know anything. Deal?” 

Harry thought about it, then nodded and took the offered hand. His instincts were telling him that this one-eyed man who’d seen through his glamour was a safe person to be with, and he was definitely going to listen to them. They hadn’t steered him wrong so far.


	3. Chapter 3

Months went by, flowing into one year which quickly became several more. Harry stayed with Xander in New Cornwall, working for the construction company and practicing his magic during his off hours, protected from discovery by the strong shielding that was in place to protect the demon enclave. He’d become as well known to them as Xander by that time, and often employed his magic for the benefit of the community whose presence had created his sanctuary. He’d also learned to drive a car, and to operate the machinery the construction company used, and he went to night school whenever a class cropped up that interested him. At 20 years old, Harry was about as happy as a British expat wizard living in a Canadian demon enclave could get, and he’d stopped looking over his shoulder for fear that the wizarding world would hunt him down. Wizards did not come to New Cornwall, and were one to show up the reaction from the demon community would have been swift and possibly violent. 

Because Harry may have been comfortable and felt reasonably secure, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d told everyone he knew about Voldemort and the Death Eaters and the Order, and the demons had made sure the story got passed around. Harry had also told them about himself and the prophecy, which had caused no less than three powerful demon clans to put him under their protection. In fact, the clans had immediately taken over his training from Xander, with the one-eyed man’s blessing, wanting him to be fully prepared when and if the prophecy did finally rear its ugly head. 

The demons and Xander, Harry had found, knew all about prophecies and didn’t like them much. “The prophecies themselves don’t really do anything,” Xander had told him on multiple occasions. “It’s other people’s reactions to the prophecies that cause the problems. And it’s not like anyone really knows what the damned things mean until after the fact anyway, so it’s best just to ignore them and keep on doing your own thing. If you’re really fated to kill an evil bad guy, then when it’s time for him to die you’ll be there. Maybe you’ll accidentally run him over with a car or something, who knows? Just keep practicing your dueling and make sure the car insurance is paid up, then all bases are covered.” 

Xander had been a lot more relaxed for the past few years as well, mainly because the Reformed Watchers’ Council had finally taken the hint and left him alone. There were no vampires in New Cornwall anyway, and nothing around to draw in the kind of power-hungry madmen that hung around a Hellmouth, so no Slayer was needed – or wanted. One had tried to show up unannounced once, and the fighting arm of the Krath’nak clan had met her at the city limits with Xander at its head and Harry and the other guys from the company just behind him. The Slayer hadn’t liked that, especially when the keep-away spell on the enclave’s boundary had deflected whatever spell it was that her redheaded companion had tried to cast in Xander’s direction. The pyrotechnics from the blocked spell had made the one-eyed man wince, and then he’d quietly told the little blonde Slayer he called Buffy to go back home and take redheaded Willow with her; he’d also told them not to come back. Harry had muted their tearful, angry protests and verbal abuse of Xander with a quickly muttered _Silencio_ , which had proved to be more entertaining than he’d ever imagined it could be when the Buffy woman had tried to scream herself into being heard through the silencing spell for a good ten minutes before the two women had left in defeat. They hadn’t been heard from again in New Cornwall either, except for a few tearful, angry, abusive messages left on Xander’s answering machine. 

Of course, there may have been more than a few, but probably not too many more. Harry had disliked the effect the messages had on Xander, so he’d put a specially designed spell on the answering machine which would reflect those particular messages back to their sender instead of recording them for his guardian to hear. He was fairly certain that the two women hadn’t liked the sound of their own ugly diatribes enough to keep the calls up for very long after that. 

What Harry hadn’t known was that all calls coming into the Council headquarters were automatically recorded, magically as well as mundanely, and that after the head of the RWC had heard a few of the reflected messages he’d made sure that his errant Slayer and witch were thoroughly and publicly chastised for what they’d done. He’d also made sure, after that, that no one belonging to his organization would ever attempt to bother Xander or come into the enclave uninvited again. 

The Slayer and her witch were not the only unwelcome visitors to arrive in New Cornwall, although they had been the recent first and held the dubious distinction of being the only ones to arrive by any means that could have been considered usual. The next pair appeared with a bang and a flash in the middle of a breezy autumn afternoon just outside of a busy construction site that looked a lot more chaotic than it actually was. Dressed in robes and holding wands, however, they were obviously not from Cleveland and had even less right to be in the enclave than the first two. Because these two ‘visitors’ were wizards. 

Ron Weasley, an auror with the Magical Enforcement Authority, at first did not know where he and his new partner had landed and didn’t really care; they’d gotten away from the situation they’d been in and had managed to stay alive, and they weren’t going to be staying wherever they were for very long anyway once he’d gotten enough of his bearings back to apparate them back to the Ministry. He could tell they were a long way from London, possibly a very long way, but getting back to safety quickly was paramount and Ron was sure one of the on-duty healers would be able to ease the killer headache the long-distance jump was going to give him. He grabbed his partner’s arm to make sure she would come with him and gestured with his wand as he started to mutter the words that would get them back home. 

The wizard didn’t even have a chance to finish his apparition spell before he was hit by an immobilizing spell and frozen in mid-cast. One of the construction workers, he saw, was pointing a wand at him and advancing cautiously, along with several of the other workers who were starting to look decidedly less human as they got closer. _Demons_ , Ron thought, cursing silently. Of all the places they could have ended up, it would have to be one of the demon enclaves. He eyed the man with the wand suspiciously; there weren’t supposed to be any wizards in demon territory, but here one was. A good one, too, and trained, if the feel of the spell and the quickness with which it had been cast were anything to go by. A rogue? It was possible. It might even be someone working for Voldemort… 

Green eyes met his, and Ron would have sucked in a shocked breath if he could. He hadn’t seen those eyes in more than five years, ever since Harry Potter had vanished from his aunt and uncle’s house the summer before their sixth year at Hogwarts. But what was the Boy Who Lived doing in a demon enclave in Canada? 

Harry stopped advancing some five feet away from Ron and his partner, and the familiar green eyes narrowed with suspicious recognition. He didn’t say anything, though, until he’d been joined by several demons and a larger, older man sporting an eyepatch who had come jogging up with a battle axe over his shoulder, demanding a ‘sit-rep’, whatever that was. “I suspect they’re aurors or something like it,” Harry answered. His voice was deeper than Ron remembered it, but not by much. “The redhead is Ron Weasley, and the last time I saw him he was planning to become an auror, so that would fit. I don’t know the woman.” 

The man was nodding, his single brown eye boring into Ron in a way that indicated he was seeing more than just outward appearances. “We need a containing circle,” he said after a moment. “I don’t think they meant to show up here, but we need to find out where they were aiming and why before we let them just poof out of here. Ragnsh’k?” 

A bluish-green skinned demon with three horns pulled out something Ron realized with more than a bit of shock was a regular Muggle cell phone. The demon dialed with a blunt claw, then grunted out a spate of something that sounded like Russian intermixed with rocks rolling down a hill into the tiny receiver. He listened for a minute, then grunted a response and folded the phone back up. “He’ll be here in five,” the demon said in Canadian-accented English, and then it snorted. “He says don’t let them loose, Har; he doesn’t trust a Brit wizard-cop as far as he can hock a loogie.” 

“That’s all of ten inches, these days,” the one-eyed man informed Ron helpfully. “Just so you realize how thoroughly you’re being insulted, of course. But don’t worry, once you’re safely penned you’ll have a chance to respond in kind.” 

Ron wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it so he spent the next few moments studying the man who used to be the boy he’d once known. Harry hadn’t gotten much taller but he’d filled out quite a bit, and there was an air of quiet confidence about him that said he’d grown into himself over the years. He wasn’t wearing glasses anymore either. Ron wasn’t sure what to think about the scar that was so clearly visible on his forehead beneath the protective yellow plastic of the construction helmet; did Harry not care that someone might see the scar and recognize him? He was the Boy Who… 

That thought stuttered to a halt. Harry was clearly not a boy anymore, nor was he in England surrounded by wizards who’d known his name for nearly two decades and expected ‘great things’ of him. He was just a young man working at a Muggle construction job in the middle of a demon enclave, and the demons probably didn’t care in the slightest about the doings of Wizarding Britain. Although the demons here obviously did know that Harry was a wizard, and were quite comfortable with that in spite of the fact that wizards weren’t allowed into the demon enclaves. Ron would have frowned if he could have; he and his partner had just fallen into a situation that didn’t make any sense. And he wasn’t sure they were going to survive to tell anyone about it – whether they got away from the demons or not. 

Ron was still ruminating over the whole mess and ways he could get them out of it when several more bluish-green demons showed up, including one who looked so old and decrepit that a careless sneeze might have been expected to blow him over. The old demon was moving under his own power, though, and he moved right up to Ron and his frozen partner and spent several minutes looking each of them in the eye. Then he moved back and started bossing the other demons who’d come with him around in the rocky Russian language, directing the formation of a simple-looking ritual circle around each frozen auror and being very picky about ensuring that the two circles didn’t intersect. He chanted a guttural verse or two , then pricked his finger with the point of another demon’s pocketknife and placed a drop of blackish-green blood at the four quarters of each circle. Ron felt the binding rise all around him, not a wall but rather a tight canister of magic which forcibly separated him from his partner and even lifted his feet up off the ground by a fractional amount. And then the old demon nodded to Harry, who immediately cancelled the immobilizing spell. 

Ron and his partner had both been in the process of casting, but their spells fizzled out the moment their wands moved. With a sigh, Ron holstered his, gesturing to his partner to do the same. “We can’t apparate out of this sort of containing field,” he told her when she looked like she might not comply. “There’s a reason wizards aren’t supposed to be in the demon enclaves, all right? Just do whatever I tell you and maybe we’ll get out of this.” 

The one-eyed man was grinning when Ron looked up. “Training a newbie, huh?” he asked. “Is she the reason you ‘accidentally’ jumped all the way across the Atlantic Ocean?” 

Ron ignored the question. “Let us go at once,” he demanded, albeit politely. “We came here by accident, and for that we apologize. We will leave immediately once you take the containing field down. If you attempt to hold us, other aurors will be converging upon this spot to secure our release.” 

The man just kept grinning. “I’m sure you’d have more of a problem with that than we would,” he observed. “Because if the other wizard-cops had been around when you needed help, you wouldn’t have ended up _here_ , now would you? And then there’s this other matter…” His smile disappeared so abruptly that Ron was startled; the man suddenly looked a lot more dangerous than any Muggle had a right to. “You recognized Harry, don’t even try to deny it; that gobsmacked expression on your face gave you away. Your partner didn’t recognize him at first, but now she has and the only thought in her little newbie mind is how to get away from all these demons and drag him back to England like a hunting trophy. I’m sure they would give you a commendation for catching him,” he told the shocked young woman, his smile flickering back cool and knowing and vaguely unpleasant. “But you see, we don’t like that idea much and you wouldn’t be able to catch him anyway, so you’ll just have to work your way up through the ranks like everyone else. Or you could sleep your way up, whatever.” 

Ron jumped in before she could open her mouth. “Amanda, shut it,” he ordered. “And dammit, where’s your Occlumency?” 

“He’s not using Legilimancy,” Harry spoke up, startling him. “She can Occlude all she wants, it won’t make a difference.” 

“Do it anyway,” Ron ordered his partner, who was now looking shocked by the idea that Occlumency wouldn’t work against a one-eyed Muggle. The angry auror turned to the man who had been the boy he’d known with a scowl, his hot temper appearing to get the better of him. “And if I want advice from a coward and a traitor, I’ll go visit Azkaban.” 

The Harry Potter he’d known would have reacted to that with some heat; this one just rolled his eyes. “Well you haven’t changed, have you?” was all he said, and quelled the growls from several demons with a careless wave of his hand. “We were friends once, but I wouldn’t expect anything other than hostility from him. I’m sure the Wizarding world has blamed me for everything bad that’s happened in the last five years.” 

Ron resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “If you’d been there…” 

“I’d have been dead five years ago,” Harry cut him off coolly. “Not that I think anyone in England cared about that at the time, since I was only being kept around to be their sacrifice. But enough about me, let’s talk about you and why you’re here, shall we?” 

“I’ve nothing to say to the likes of you,” Ron retorted, and turned his attention back to the blue-helmeted Harris. “Harbouring a rogue wizard is a serious offense, but I could be persuaded to believe that you weren’t aware of it if you cooperate with us now,” he said with all the authority he could muster. “This man is a known liar and psychotic, even five years ago he was considered quite dangerous and kept under near-constant watch. He’s suspected of several killings. We can take him into custody and return him to the authorities in Britain, and I’ll see to it that you aren’t held responsible for anything he’s done.” 

Ron kept eye contact with the one-eyed man, hoping against all hope that he really could see the truth whether it was Legilimancy or something else. The man looked back at him impassively, even a bit angrily, but Ron saw something flicker in the brown eye that was just as quickly gone. The man turned to the old demon beside him. “We’re going to have to do this the hard way,” was what he said. “I doubt the newbie knows anything; we’d just be wasting our time interrogating her. But this guy,” the eye glanced back, then away again, “I think we could find out some things, if we went about it the right way. Can we move his containing field over between the trailer and the building where we’ll have some privacy?” 

The old demon grunted and shrugged. “If you want to play with him, be my guest,” he said. “We get the little girl, then? I’m too old, but I’m sure the boys would enjoy it.” 

Amanda gasped when Harris’ response to that was a shrug of his own. “Sure, just take your time until we’re done with ours,” he requested. “We might need her intact if he can’t give us what we want.” 

Nobody had any objection to this, and the demons very carefully moved Ron’s magical prison to a spot between a metal box-building on wheels and a thick concrete-block wall. Harris appeared a few moments later, with Harry right behind him. Ron watched them warily, wondering if he’d gotten it right…and then knew he had when one of the demons dispersed the containing field at a nod from their human boss. Ron staggered when he hit the ground, and when a strong, work-callused hand steadied him he looked up into Harry’s bright grin. “And you said _I’m_ a psychotic liar?” 

Ron threw his arms around his friend in a bone-cracking hug. “You can be anything you want, I’m just bloody well glad you’re alive,” he insisted. After a moment he pushed Harry back and took another look at him. “You don’t know how worried we all were – and I know you couldn’t have known,” he qualified hastily. “Dad figured it out, that they hadn’t been letting anyone communicate with you. We all tried, Harry, you’ve got to believe me. None of us blamed you for what happened at the Ministry. And then about six months after you disappeared, Professor Trelawney got in touch with Mum and Dad; she’s the one that gave the prophecy in the first place, I guess in her own weird way she’d been trying to warn you all those times in class when she predicted your death. She told Dad she was happy you’d got away, said she’d seen it all come out right and not to be worried.” He grimaced. “She disappeared herself right after that, and no one’s seen her since. I’d guess she went into hiding so no one could make her tell where you were.” 

“Hopefully that’s exactly what she did,” Harry said quietly, although he doubted it was true. “So your family…” 

“All still alive and kicking,” Ron assured him, pleased that his friend had asked. “Dad left the Ministry, he works with Fred and George now. Bill’s married, a girl he met who works for the Gringotts branch in Cairo. Charlie’s been dating some bloke he won’t bring home for about a year now, and Percy is still kissing Fudge’s arse. But we can talk about the family some other time,” he said, and turned his attention to Xander. “Mr. Harris, you were quite right about the other aurors; if they did show up here, looking for us, I’m quite sure Amanda and I wouldn’t ever be seen again. We were led into a trap today that I believe was supposed to get both of us killed, and it was sheer blind luck that I was able to get us out of it.” He snorted. “Of course, Amanda doesn’t realize that they planned for her to be killed right alongside of me; she thinks being assigned to spy on me means she’s valuable to them, that they’ll protect her.” 

Harris shrugged. “Well, if she was smart enough to figure it out, she would have been useless to them. Although I hope you realize that they know you know.” Ron nodded, and the man quirked a smile. “Just checking. We’ll figure out what to do with the canon fodder later, though; right now, we need to figure out what we’re going to do with _you_. Do you need to take the ‘out’ this little side trip gave you, or are you feeling like you need to risk going back in?” 

Ron was startled, and it showed. “You’d let me go? Back, I mean?” 

The older man snorted. “If you really believe you have to? Yeah, of course – even if you weren’t a friend of Harry’s. We’re not in the wizard-imprisoning business, or the wizard-elimination business either.” 

“I don’t want to leave my family,” Ron said. “But my ‘death’ would solve some problems they don’t even realize they have. Still, if I were to be ‘killed’ here, the Ministry will send…” 

“Nobody,” one of the demons interrupted him, shaking its head. “They might send along a written request for verification of your fate, but they’ll do it through the mail. You wand-waving types aren’t allowed in the enclave, remember?” 

Ron looked absolutely gobsmacked, and Harris laughed. “He’s right, they won’t come here – they probably won’t even try to contact any of the clans. All we have to do is send your little tagalong back home with just the _right_ set of memories for them to look at, and everyone will be convinced that you died saving her. Which will also mean they won’t kill her – they won’t be able to, bad PR – so you won’t have that on your conscience later.” 

Ron nodded slowly. “That…that would work, yes. But what would I do after that? I doubt you have a Magical Enforcement Division here.” 

“Nope, but we’ve got a police department,” Harris told him. “First, though, you’ll have to learn how not to do everything with a pointy magic stick…”


End file.
